The Illustrious Client
by The-Woman-In-White
Summary: While struggling with his own insecurities after Sherlock's return, John doesn't know that Irene Adler has asked Sherlock for help and to keep quiet that she's alive. "We wouldn't want to make John jealous now, would we?" she grinned.


John and Sherlock had been spending most of the day at Baker Street, currently in a companionable silence. John moved the laptop on his lap to find a more comfortable position, after which he resumed typing an email to his sister.

During the time Sherlock had been away, he had renewed contact with her, which he was now determined to keep up. Though their relationship had always been somewhat unsteady and she'd had her own problems, she had always been very supportive when John had needed someone to talk to.

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, working on one of his many experiments, which he had seemed to resume the moment he had returned to Baker Street. Old habits really did die hard.

Sherlock suddenly got up from behind his microscope and walked over to the door to put on his coat.

"I'm going to Scotland Yard," he said without looking up. John watched him with a slightly hesitant look.

"You want me to come with you?"

"We're going to look over some cold cases. I don't think you'd enjoy it." John nodded, feeling just a sliver of disappointment. He knew he was being petty, so he tried to hide it by returning his gaze towards his laptop, though he doubted that Sherlock hadn't noticed.

Ever since Sherlock's return two weeks ago, things had been a little tense between them. Sherlock hadn't been on a case yet, having only just made his reappearance public. John now wondered whether or not Sherlock was planning on asking John to join him on his cases. Seeing how Moriarty had put John in danger to get to Sherlock, he could imagine Sherlock thinking it better if John and his work stayed separate. Well, he would just have to talk to Sherlock about that.

"Don't wait up!" Sherlock shouted from the bottom of the stairs. John heard the front door close and he sighed, closing his laptop. Perhaps he should use this day to restock the fridge and spend some time talking to Mrs Hudson. He hadn't really had a conversation with her since Sherlock's return. He checked the fridge to see what he would need and went downstairs to 221A.

"Mrs Hudson?" he called, knocking on her door.

"John, come in!" she exclaimed, opening the door and guiding him in. He stood, watching her as she went over to the kitchen counter, her hands moving about as she started preparing tea. "You can sit down now, you know. No need to wait for me," she told him with a look over her shoulder, smiling kindly. Giving her a small smile, he complied.

"How are you doing, Mrs Hudson?" he asked, once she had placed the tea on the table and was seated opposite of him.

"I'm doing quite well, John. It's very sweet of you to come down and ask me. Of course, it has been a dreadfully chaotic few weeks, but nothing I can't handle," she answered. Putting down her cup, her smile disappeared and a more serious look took its place. "Perhaps I should ask how _you're_ doing?" John smiled reassuringly.

"Honestly, I'm still a bit confused by it all. But it's definitely getting better as I'm getting more used to his presence around the house. It seems things are returning to normal again. Or as normal as they're going to get," he told her. He swallowed and looked down. "Though, I can't help but feel worried that Sherlock feels responsible to keep me safe after all that's happened, you know? And it's not that I can't see where he's coming from, it's just that I don't want to be cut out of that part of his life. When he was gone, it became even clearer just how much I enjoyed solving those cases with him," he sighed, feeling slightly guilty for overwhelming Mrs Hudson. However, she gave him an encouraging nod, showing him that she'd listen to whatever he had to say.

"The thing is, I don't know how to go about telling him this. I've had enough fights with him these last few weeks that I don't want to be the cause of any more," he finished. Mrs Hudson smiled sadly, placing her hand on his.

"I don't always know what's going on in that brilliant mind of his, but I have known him for a long time, so let me tell you something. You're probably right in presuming he's considering solving cases on his own from now on, but he also knows how important this is to you. He wouldn't refuse you if you'd tell him that you want to join him. Basically, what you should do right now – in my opinion, that is – is that you should tell him how you feel about this, let him blow of some steam, so he can voice his insecurities, and then you can both agree to just work together again," she answered, with a confident smile.

John chuckled, "I hope you're right."

* * *

John woke up the next morning to a silent house. And though that wasn't necessarily an uncommon situation, he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had already returned.

He went downstairs and, noticing the empty living room and kitchen, debated whether he should knock on Sherlock's bedroom door or not. Knowing that if Sherlock _was_ home, he would like to sleep in, he decided to have breakfast first.

When Sherlock hadn't emerged from his bedroom an hour or two later either, John took the risk and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, "Sherlock?". Eventually, he just decided to open the door and wasn't surprised to see the bed empty and unslept in.

With some anxiety stirring his chest, he picked up his phone.

_Everything okay? – JW_

Knowing Sherlock, he didn't really expect an answer, so John was not just a little surprised when his phone almost immediately lighted up with a reply.

* * *

Both Sherlock and Irene turned their gazes towards Sherlock's phone, lighting up with John's text.

"It appears your John is getting worried," Irene said, almost purring. Sherlock frowned slightly, making a move to pick up the phone, though eventually deciding not to.

"So what exactly have you called me here for?" he asked stoically.

"You're not answering that?" Irene said, vaguely gesturing towards his phone. He silenced her with a look.

"I don't see what interest this has for you," he said.

"I don't want to be the cause of an argument between the two of you. We wouldn't want to make John jealous now, would we?" she grinned. He decided the best way to move on was to give in, so he picked up the phone and texted something back.

"Let's move on," he said decidedly. "The problem?"

"Fine." Irene leant back into her chair. "I seem to have gotten on the wrong side of someone I have previously done business with. He's demanding a certain amount of money or he will – and I quote – 'destroy my career'. A tad melodramatic, don't you think?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, so Irene continued. "I would like you to help me find out what he thinks he can use as blackmail. As you know, I've never been very secretive about my work and all it involves."

"What do you know about him?" Irene quickly filled him in on all the details surrounding this William Ormstein, a wealthy middle-aged man of whom the pictures on the internet seemed to suggest he was a very jovial and friendly man.

"I don't think this should be too much trouble," Sherlock concluded, getting ready to leave.

"I was under the suggestion we'd be doing this together. I have not called you here to take over. I'd rather handle it myself, in that case," Irene said prickly, putting a hand on his arm to deter him from leaving. Sherlock gave her a long look.

"All right. I'll have to think over the information you've given me, but we shall meet again tonight. I think we should be able to have fixed this problem of yours by then." Irene, seemingly pacified, removed her hand and nodded her thanks.

* * *

_Don't worry. Back tonight. – SH_

John read the text with annoyance. Of course Sherlock wouldn't bother explaining why he had been gone for so long. Huffing in annoyance, he decided to text Lestrade, not caring if Sherlock would read the text as well.

_Is Sherlock still there? - JW_

He got a reply a few moments later.

_Sherlock hasn't been here at all. I wouldn't know where he is. – Greg_

John groaned annoyed, rubbing his hand over his face.

* * *

Sherlock eventually returned that evening, walking in with a casual air.

"You haven't been to Lestrade," John stated bluntly, not in a mood to be tactful. Sherlock looked up indifferently.

"I changed my plans. I got a case."

"Ah, I see," John said, feeling his throat tighten. Changed his plans? He hadn't had any plans with Lestrade, or Lestrade would've mentioned it. John swallowed and looked back at Sherlock, deciding to follow up on Mrs Hudson's advice. "You know, if you don't want me to join you in any of your cases anymore, you can just say so." This time Sherlock did look up with more interest.

"The client doesn't want anyone to know. I couldn't tell you," he answered matter-of-factly. "Ah, I see," John sighed, wondering since when Sherlock included John in that 'anyone'."Is the case solved?"

"Not yet, I'll need to return tonight," Sherlock answered, his tone indicating he was done with the conversation.

That evening, Sherlock left Baker Street again to meet up with Irene. Now that he had all possible information on Ormstein, he had another thorough conversation with Irene. They managed to figure out what Ormstein most likely had in his possession that he was planning on blackmailing Irene with. It was a document, that, though Sherlock could hazard a guess, Irene wouldn't reveal the meaning of.

They were currently standing in front of William Ormstein's house in London, waiting for the moment to get in. Sherlock had done some research and, with the help of his homeless network, figured out that Ormstein would leave his house at nine. There would be a housemaid, but he knew they'd be able to avoid being noticed. Suddenly, Irene decided to break the silence.

"Does John know I'm your client?"

"No, he doesn't," Sherlock answered curtly. Irene smiled.

"I know I told you that you couldn't anyone I was alive, but I figured you'd at least tell _him_. God knows you trust him with your life and you are by no means a fool," Irene said. Sherlock, feeling annoyed, got up from the bench they'd been sitting on.

"He should be leaving the house any moment now," he muttered. And sure enough, only a few minutes later, the front door opened and the porch light spring on. Sherlock watched the silhouette of this man who had found a way to at least somewhat unnerve this stoic woman. He had no problem admitting that there weren't many people who could say the same. He silently watched as the man got in his car and drove away. The moment the porch light went off again, Irene got up as well and they made their way to the house.

"We get inside, make our way to his study and you retrieve the document you need," Sherlock said, crossing the street with Irene at his side. She nodded.

After they had made their way inside through a window, they managed to find the study relatively quickly. Irene, putting on gloves, walked around to find the safe she'd assumed the document was in. Sherlock was standing at the closed door, listening for any sound that would indicate the housemaid was near. Eventually, after what felt look too long, Irene found the safe on a shelve in the bookcase that was much deeper than the rest of the shelves. She took out the books that were hiding it and started on opening the safe.

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing outside. Irene hid the document in her coat.

"I'm leaving for America in a few hours. And I don't think I'll be returning to England," she said with some humour. Sherlock smiled at her. She gave him a lingering look, before turning around and walking away.

* * *

John startled awake as Sherlock ascended the stairs to Baker Street. They looked at each other a few moments, after which Sherlock sat down on the couch.

"Case closed," Sherlock said definitively.

"I don't suppose you can tell me anything about it?"

"Actually, I can," Sherlock answered, sounding relieved.

"Really? I'd have thought you would need to wait at least ten years before being allowed to tell me anything," he chuckled. Sherlock gave him a confused look.

John hesitated. "Seeing how it must have been something important? You know, because you couldn't tell _anyone_," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it was important to the client, but outside of that… no, not really."

"Oh, right," John answered. _Things do seem to have changed, then,_ he thought, smiling sadly.

Sherlock sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Really John, you have the uncanny ability to always make me feel guilty just by smiling a certain way." John furrowed his brow.

"Really?"

"Yes, absolutely. I'm starting to wonder if it isn't a technique you have developed to talk me into opening up."

"You think I would do that?" John replied, appalled.

Sherlock got up and started pacing the room. "You're doing it again."

"Well, if you weren't feeling guilty, then me doing those 'things' wouldn't have any effect. Are you feeling guilty for not telling me about this case? I mean, you're not still feeling guilty about your… absence, are you?" Sherlock looked away. "Sherlock, I've already forgiven you! You know that, right?"

"Humph."

"No, really. And you want to know why?" Sherlock looked at him, his pacing slowing down. "I know I would have done the same thing if I had been in your shoes. It doesn't make the last two years less sad or painful to remember, because those are two years of my life I'll never get back, but it _has_ made me realise that I have no reason to be angry at you. So I'm not." Sherlock had now completely stopped pacing, folding his hands together under his chin while watching John intently. He suddenly leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of the chair John was sitting in, closely studying John's face.

"You really mean that," he eventually said.

"Of course I do!" John answered indignantly, accounting his increasing heartbeat and clammy palms to his annoyance with Sherlock. Sherlock's inquisitive look was slowly being replaced with a more intense one. Under this close scrutiny, John could almost _feel_ his pupils dilate.

They both heard Mrs Hudson close the front door downstairs. Sherlock stood back up, straightening his jacket. John coughed, shifting in his chair.

"The client was Irene Adler, if you're interested," Sherlock said.

"What?" John spluttered. "But-but she's dea- not alive, right?" he asked, feeling a strange sense of déjà-vu. Sherlock grinned darkly, recognizing the parallel as well.

"She is very much alive and she asked my help for something. A former client of her created some problems. She's currently on a plane to America."

"America?"

"Yes, and you don't have to worry, because it's very likely she intends to spend the rest of her live there."

"Why would I worry?" John quickly said.

Sherlock grinned fondly. "I know you don't like her, John." John grunted, trying to hide a smile.

"Yes, well," John uttered, looking for words. Sherlock made his way to his microscope, chuckling.

"It seems she was right."

"About what?"

"She feared that she might make you jealous," Sherlock said, raising his eyebrow.


End file.
